


come on here, stay close to me

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry's in an Indie band, Louis is very stubborn, M/M, Mild Smut, Niall is indecisive, Niall/Barbara hook up mentioned, Nick's the bassist, Perrie's his drummer, Sort of mild, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4329783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why do I have to go?" Louis whines because he hates Niall's new obsession. He'd rather listen to Zayn's rap shit that Niall's Indie bands and that's saying something.<br/>"Because you're my best friend." Niall replies simply. </p>
<p>or where Niall's newest 'thing' is Indie music, Louis'll do anything for his best-friend, Harry's in an Indie band and Perrie's his kick-ass drummer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come on here, stay close to me

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to [this!!!!!](http://8tracks.com/streetsmarts/stereotype-me)
> 
> It's my heart and soul and is missing a few of my favourites, but whatever. It's still brilliant. 
> 
> Title from 'Lairs' by WULF. Fucking love that song. 
> 
> You have to imagine all of the mentioned bands at the very beginning of their journey. They aren't very well known, they're all quite brand new, just babies in the music industry. I use the term Indie very loosely, okay. Remember that.
> 
> Louis bashes a bit (a lot) on the whole 'Indie' thing because he doesn't quite understand, but look past his ignorance, okay? Because Indie is independent and it means whatever I want it to. 
> 
> Special thanks to Juliet for providing the lyrics for Harry's third mentioned song, '2033'! It's the last song mentioned in this. It's brilliant and I really appreciate her being kind enough to let me use it!

It’s late July and burning hot and Louis is trapped at work. It’s the story of his life, but he’s gotten used to the idea that the only two places he’ll see over the summer are the diner and his bedroom. Niall, though, hasn’t.

“Louis,” Niall shouts as he runs into the diner.

The owners had yelled at him a myriad of times, but Niall never listens. One day he'll fall, and Louis will die laughing while the owners give Niall their infamous 'I told you so' speech.

“Niall,” Louis says back, less enthralled.

He’s tired and cranky and he fucking _knows_ Niall’s going to tell him about some new obsession, some new ‘thing’ he’s in love with. Last week, it was yoga, the week before, cashmere sweaters, and two weeks before that, it was music that involved more screaming than singing. Louis can't even keep up with the fucking Kardashians; how does Niall expect him to keep up with his new obsessions when they change so often?

“I just got tickets for this great summer mashup concert!” He says with a wide grin.

“Great,” Louis says, dry, and wipes the counter down. “Who’s it for, then?”

“A bunch of bands that are just...they’re _fantastic_ , Louis! I was up all night jammin’ to their 8tracks playlists!” Niall hops up onto the counter and squeals. “You wouldn’t know them if I told you their names, but they’re brilliant! There’s so much feeling in the songs, unlike the songs on the radio.”  
“I hope you have fun with your Indie shit.” Louis muses, rubbing his eyes.

He’s been at the diner since six this morning. Ten hour shifts are not his idea of fun and Niall will probably never understand that.

“I even got you a ticket!” Niall says, cheery.

Even Louis’ stale mood can’t bring him down, it seems.

“I’m not going.” Louis announces and stares at the clock.

Only ten minutes until he can fucking go home and pass out. That’s what he wants, not to go to some concert where Niall will pronounce his undying love for a genre of music that shouldn’t even _exist_.

“Come on,” Niall whines.

“Why can’t you go alone?”

“Because concerts aren’t meant for people to go alone, Louis!” Niall snaps. “They are group activities where you drag your friends out and you dance and sing and meet Indie band members backstage!”

“But why do I have to go?” Louis frowns. “Liam can be considered your friend, and Zayn as well!”

“Best friends, Louis! I have only one and it’s you!”

Louis sighs, long and dramatic, and knows it’s useless fighting Niall. Niall has this hold over Louis and it doesn’t allow Louis to say no to him for long.

“Fine. Whatever.” Louis sighs and wishes he had a different best friend, “When is it?”

“Tonight!” Niall squeals. “After your shift ends, we’re going shopping!”

“I’m poor and tired as fuck.” Louis groans and flops half of his body onto the counter in an exaggerated manner.

“I will buy you some tight ass jeans and a shirt that doesn’t look like you bought it at a yard sale and you will drink some espresso.” Niall grins like he solved all of the world’s problems.

Louis just sighs and looks at the clock. Two minutes.

“Can I take a nap in the car?”

-

“Those jeans are gonna get you laid,” Niall says with a mischievous grin.

They’ve been shopping for what feels like hours. It’s probably only been, like, one, but Louis is the king of dramatics.

“I hope so,” Louis murmurs. “Otherwise there’s no point in my balls being squished.”

Louis turns and heads back inside the dressing room and tries to wrestle his legs out of the jeans.

“Painting my jeans on would be more comfortable than these!” Louis says dramatically when Niall throws another outfit over the top of the door.

“That’s kinda the point.” Niall laughs.

Louis has no idea what he means so he just huffs aggravatedly and pulls on the next outfit.

“Keep those jeans, okay? I’d fuck you in those and I’m straight!” Niall shouts and Louis can’t help the scoff that slips out of his mouth. Straight his ass.

Louis folds the keeper jeans and pulls on the newest shirt.

It’s soft from use—they _are_ at the thrift store, after all. Niall’s words were ‘reuse, bro!’ though they're both too poor to shop anywhere else—and a worn-out sort of grey. It’s got a pocket on the chest and Louis is so confused because this is the simplest shirt he’s ever seen. What the fuck.

“Niall James Horan, what is going on?” Louis shouts over the door.

“You’re trying on clothes for an Indie concert.” Niall answers calmly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Louis says with a little too much force. “Just...just tired and cranky and I hate underground music and I don’t understand why I have to go—”

“Because you’re my best friend and you love me and I am Indie,” Niall pushes open the door and Louis stumbles back, grabbing a shirt to cover his bare legs. “so, because I am Indie, you should love it, as well.”

“What are you even saying? Was that even a sentence?” Louis has no idea what’s gotten into Niall.

Indie is driving him insane.

“It was.” Niall replies. “Take that shirt off.”

Louis looks at him, sort of terrified, and does as told. Niall grabs the folded jeans and ducks out, leaving Louis with a pile of used clothes and his fear.

He gets dressed slowly and decides that if Niall goes completely bat shit, he’ll have to restrain him and take him home.

He pulls on his shoes and steps outside, glancing around warily. He walks calmly toward the registers and sees the cashier, a pretty boy with long hair.

“The blond douche said to tell you he went to the car.” He says and Louis smiles, polite.

“Thank you.” He says and then ducks outside, twisting his hands in anxiety.

He gets to Niall’s car and slides carefully into the passenger’s seat.

“How much do I owe you on payday?” Louis asks, looking forward.

“Nada,” Niall replies, starting the car and driving away.

“No, seriously. What’d it cost you?”

“Five bucks.” Niall sighs. “But I don’t want your money. Consider it compensation for going with me tonight.”

Louis shrugs haphazardly and turns up the radio. Immediately, some folkish song pours from the speakers and Niall squeaks “I _looooooove_ this song!” so loud that Louis loses hearing in his left ear for a second.

“What the hell is this?” Louis asks when he recovers.

“‘[Soldier's Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2XqhGeEpBQ)’ by Sean Rowe.” Niall whispers. “Now shut the fuck up.”

Louis keeps his mouth closed and tries not to writhe in boredom. When the song ends, Niall has tears in his eyes and Louis has no idea why.

“It’s powerful, innit?” Niall wipes at the tears.

“Sure.” Louis says carefully, not wanting to set Niall off.

He really doesn’t know—and doesn’t _care_ —if the song’s powerful. Sean Rowe means nothing to him.

The song shifts and a happier tone comes up, filling the car with soft whispers of lyrics in a harsh voice.

Louis is pretty sure he loathes it.

“‘[Then What](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac7L5DGV_DA) by Balthazar.” Niall coos and Louis rolls his eyes.

He’d rather be listening to Zayn’s rap shit and that’s saying something considering Louis would rather shoot fireworks out of his ears than listen to Zayn’s rap shit.

Louis rolls down the window and leans out so the wind covers most of the music. When the song’s over, he reaches over and smacks the button so the radio turns on and soft rock pours through the car.

“Hey,” Niall frowns.

Louis just sighs.

-

They go to Niall’s house for a while because it’s only, like, five and the concert doesn’t start until late. Niall suggests leaving early, but Louis rudely tells him that it’s called Indie music for a reason and that the crowds will be small at best.

But Louis is wrong. So fucking wrong that Niall punches him in the arm and calls him a tosser when they arrive and the line stretches around the corner.

“Bloody hell,” Louis murmurs, dread filling his chest.

He doesn’t want to be surrounded by flower-power hippie kids with Converse on their feet and herbal tea on their breath. He doesn’t want ears to succumb to the monstrosity that is independant music artists. He doesn’t want to be _here_.

“I’m so excited!” Niall croons, bumping his hip into Louis’ as they walk.

It sends an unexpecting Louis straight off the sidewalk and into the road, causing a car to slam on its horn.   
“Yeah, yeah!” Louis shouts over his shoulder. “Fuck off.”

He rejoins Niall on the sidewalk, agitated, and bumps Niall back just as hard.

“You’re gonna get me killed!” Louis admonishes.

“Relax.” Niall laughs, “You’re alive and well and about to listen to some brilliant bands and meet the members backstage!”

“What?” Louis freezes, staring at Niall.

“Oh,” Niall hisses. “Didn’t I tell you? I got backstage passes.”

“How do you afford all of this?!” Louis shouts. “You work at a library part-time!”

“My mum.” Niall says softly. “I told her I wanted to see it and she sent over the money.”

“Wish I had a mum like that.” Louis scoffs. “How is she, by the way?”

“She’s well.” Niall smiles. “Misses you a whole lot, though.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Louis muses, fighting the smile.

Niall’s mother had always treated Louis like her own, since the two became best-friends in eighth grade.

“When do you think we’ll be leaving?”

“Oh, before three definitely.” Niall grins and hooks his arm with Louis’.

_“In the morning?!”_

-

By the time they make it inside, Louis’ toes ache from being stepped on and he decides he really needs a beer. Or six.

“Want a beer?” Niall shouts.

The first band’s already begun to set up and practice, so the crowd is loud. Louis' throat aches with their rowdiness. 

“Definitely!” Louis shouts back before he follows Niall.

They buy their own beers—Louis insists, even though the beers are more expensive than he’d thought—and then settle into their ‘seats’.

Seating isn’t actually a word Louis would use—it’s more like an area in which one can stand to see the stage—but that’s what Niall calls it.  

“Look!” Niall shouts into Louis’ ear. “Houndmouth!”

Louis squints up at the stage—it’s still quite dark—and sighs. A four-member band stands on stage, all dark-haired. It consists of three men and one woman who stand behind their instruments, smiling softly as the flood lights flicker on.

“I’m Matt,” says the man whom Louis assumes is the lead.

“I’m Katie,” says the pretty girl behind the keyboard.

“Zak,” the guy with bass grins.

“And Shane!” The drummer laughs.

“And we’re Houndmouth. This is ‘[Sedona](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XuAm3svfhU)’.” Matt grins and a soft beat pours through the crowd, everyone quieting down enough to hear it.

Louis tries not to be so closed-minded, he really does, but he’s not sure this genre of music is for him. He sips at his beer inside of voicing his thoughts and hums along to the beat unconsciously.

It’s soft and melodic, sort of like a rock song but not at all. Louis turns his head and glances at Niall, who’s swaying and shouting the words like he’d grown up with the music. Louis grins to himself, amused, and watches the stage.

-

“Thanks for being so goddamn perfect tonight!” Matt grins into the mic. “Sadly, our time’s up and the next band’s on. Welcome Balthazar! All the way from Belgium!”

Louis raises his eyebrows. Indie must be more popular than he’d realized if bands flew out from fucking Belgium.

The other half of the stage lights up and Louis spots the band. This one has five people—four of which are men—and they have a foreign aura about them.

“Hi,” says a blondish man with a guitar, “I’m Maarten.”

Definitely foreign. His accent is thick as fuck.

“That’s Jinte, Patricia, Simon, and Michiel.” He points the them, smile curling his lips. “And we’re, obviously, Balthazar. We’ll be doing a few songs. This one’s called ‘[Then What](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac7L5DGV_DA)’.”

They begin to play and a fast, yet soft beat pours around Louis. When Maarten begins to sing, it’s slow and smooth and desperately beautiful. It makes Louis want to close his eyes and dance blindly. Damn, they’re good.

“Alright,” Maarten smiles once the song’s over. “This one’s ‘[The Oldest Of Sisters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFBc1yQfIzQ)’.”

-

“You’ve been absolutely great!” Maarten grins. “Hope we get invited back next year! Next up is WULF!”

Louis goes to drink his beer and realizes it’s empty, so he nudges Niall and shouts, “Beer!” before walking away.

He heads to the stands before he buys an overly priced bottle of some beer brand he doesn’t know and then turns to watch WULF from there for a moment.

They’re good, Louis will admit. He really likes the song they’re playing now.

“What’s this song called?” He asks the woman running the stand.

She’s wearing a dress printed dark blue with red dots.

“‘[Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fQOMdWXjXg)’.” She smiles. “Lovely, innit?”

Louis just nods and meanders his way back to Niall. When he gets there, WULF’s playing a song called ‘[Lairs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LarFEjS09ik)’. He bumps his hip into Niall’s, half-smiling, and laughs when Niall belts out the chorus like it was ‘Fergalicious’ and they were fourteen again.

“I love them!” Niall shouts to Louis after the song’s over and the lights dim.

“They’re good.” Louis muses because he’s tired of being an asshole.

He turns back around and watches a three-member band stand up on the lit portion of the stage.

The lead-singer—a boy with long, curly hair and dark tattoos—smiles and gives the crowd a half-wave. He’s sort of extremely beautiful.

Louis is awed.

“I’m Harry,” he says and his voice rumbles.

He has on a ridiculously floral shirt and hideously worn boots, but it’s endearing. Almost.

“Perrie,” says the blonde-girl at the drums.

She’s wearing a leather jacket over a white shirt and jeans. She looks like the type of girl Zayn would go for.

“Nick.” The lad waves at the crowd, holding a bass.

He’s dressed simple, like Louis. A white t-shirt and dark jeans, but with better shoes.

“We’re still working on our name,” Harry shrugs halfheartedly, “but for now, call us The Lovely Thoughts. It’s one we sort of agree on.”

“Our first song,” says Perrie, “is called ‘Cast Adrift’.”

“Written by all of us,” Nick adds before they all simultaneously begin to play, “but mostly Harry.”

Harry’s pure brilliance on his guitar as he strums a soft, but powerful beat. It’s steady and slow, a heart-wrenchingly sad song.

“Like a ship without an anchor,” Harry sings and Louis is enamoured.

Which, in itself, is a very, very bad thing. Louis hasn’t been enamoured since his boss and that went to shit before Louis even got laid.

Harry belts out the words like he owns them, like he is them. Like he’s speaking them.

The chorus is sung by Perrie, who does a beautiful job as well, her own voice roughened by Harry’s backup.

“You’re cast adrift, free at sea, too damned to even be with me.” Harry starts the next verse and Louis sways to the beat, slow and steady. “You took me in, you tore me down, now you left me here while you skipped town.”

God fucking damn it, the song’s beautiful. His favourite of the night, definitely.

When it’s over, he’s almost sad, already missing the smooth beat.

“Remember this song for me, will you?” Louis shouts to Niall.

“Liked it?” Niall grins.

“Yeah,” Louis says back, turning to the band as they finish the song. “I did.”

The Lovely Thoughts sings one more song called ‘Breathtaking Brown Eyes’—it uses masculine _pronouns!_ —and it’s just as lovely as the first.

“Follow us on Instagram!” Harry shouts as they wrap up their set, tucking his hair into a bun on the top of his head. “Next up for your listening pleasure is [Saint Motel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5C1Bt4k-iA)!”

-

“Backstage, here we come!” Niall cheers as the last band—[The Bleachers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmUw1MmIYvU), Louis thinks their name is, or maybe Paint Splatter. He wasn't listening—wraps it up.

They head toward the designated section and are surprised when there’s no security to stop them.

“It is an Indie concert, after all.” Louis mutters, spotting the bands all crowded around one another in an inglorious circle of talent.

“Shut it,” Niall pushes him roughly, causing him to, once again, stumble into something.

This time it’s a person and not a car, though, so Louis looks down and begins to murmur a halfhearted apology.

“Sorry.” He says. “He, uh, pushed me.”

Louis lifts his eyes and freezes. He’d stumbled into a band member, The Lovely Thoughts’ Harry.

“It’s fine.” Harry smiles. “An accident’s an accident. I’m Harry.”

“Louis,” Louis smiles. “You were great up there. Brilliant, actually.”

“Really?” Harry grins. “I was so nervous!”

“You didn’t look it.” Louis assures.  “You looked like you were at home up there, like you were made for it.”

“That’s so nice!” Harry bites his lip to hide a grin and Louis knows he’s fucked. “You’re so nice! Come meet my band members!”

Louis is a little taken back by his forwardness, but follows nonetheless.

Perrie and Nick(?) are sitting on one of the many couches, throwing fries at each other.

“Guys,” Harry says scoldingly, like a dad would, “really?”

“Nick’s being a dick.” Perrie murmurs as a fry hits her right in the eye.

She turns to glare at Nick while promptly dumping her entire container onto his head.

“You are such a…” Nick narrows his eyes, pausing.

“Don’t do it.” Harry warns. “Nick, _don’t do it!_ ”

“Bitch.” Nick finishes, laughing, and Perrie punches him in the shoulder.

He gets up and runs away, giggling and rubbing his new injury.

“Worth it!” He grins.

“I’ll show you a bitch!” Perrie shouts, but she doesn’t move from the couch. “Why do we keep him?”

“Because he’s the best bassist we know.” Harry replies with a shrug, plopping down onto the empty couch in front of him.

Louis stands there, awkward and confused, until Harry grins. He grabs Louis’ arm—Christ, how big are his hands?!—and tugs him onto the couch next to him.

“I’m Perrie.” She introduces, picking fires off the couch and eating them.

“Louis.” He nods.

“That was Nick, obviously.” Harry grins, pointing over his shoulder. “What was your favourite song?”

Louis struggles to remember the title, but it’s only for a second.

“‘Cast Adrift’.” He likes it mostly because he has a tattoo of rope and a compass.

Fitting, to say the least.

“Why?” Harry wonders, unzipping his boots and taking them off.

He folds his legs underneath himself, turning to look at Louis like they’re playing Miss Mary Mack.

“It’s got a nice rhythm...and it matches my tattoos.”

“Me too!” Harry turns his arm, revealing an anchor near his wrist.

“Ours almost line up!” Louis grins, moving closer to show him the line of rope around his wrist.

They do line up. In fact, it looks like they’d planned it.

Louis is thoroughly disgusted with himself.

“That’s crazy!” Harry grins, patting Louis’ knee. “What other tattoos do we have in common?”

-

“I’ve been thinking of putting a dagger here,” Louis muses, pointing at a blank space on his arm.

He’s been saving up for it, actually. The design had suggested a rose, but Louis didn’t want it, too preoccupied with the thought of a knife drawn in ink on his skin. 

“I have a rose there!” Harry gasps.

“This is fucking crazy.” Louis laughs. “We have matching tattoos and I don’t even know your last name.”

“Styles.” Harry interjects.

“Harry Styles.” Louis muses. “Very rock star.”

“What’s yours?”

“Tomlinson.” He shrugs. “Not so rock star.”

“It’s a great name, though. Very...British.”

Louis barks out a laugh, strangely happy.

It’s very, very late, but Louis doesn’t care. He’s more concerned with getting into Harry Styles’ pants than getting home to sleep. He looks around, spotting Niall, who’s chatting with some girl in the corner happily, and knows that he’d be stuck here for a while even if Harry wasn’t here.

“I _am_ British.” Louis nudges Harry’s side with his elbow.

“And so am I.” Harry grins back. “Got any other tattoos?”

“A few.” Louis says. “On my ankles...and some on my chest. You?”

“I have some on my chest and ribs...and a few on my thigh.”

“Can I see?”

-

Somehow, they end up in the band’s dressing room with a fedora placed on the door handle.   
“It means privacy,” Harry clarifies, “like the sock-thing.”

Louis, of course, has no idea what ‘the sock-thing’ is, but nods anyway.

“I have a lot of tattoos,” Harry murmurs, unbuttoning his shirt.

It wasn’t buttoned much to begin with, but.

Louis swallows roughly, mouth suddenly very dry—from the over priced beer, probably—and stares at the dark ink curling over Harry’s chest.

There are birds, swallows maybe, printed on his upper chest. Louis is close enough to touch them, but refrains.

“I have a...a bird on my arm.” Louis points to the inked swallow.

“Holy fucking shit,” Harry grins. “This is _crazy_!”

“It’s like…” Louis does not want to use the words ‘destiny’ or ‘destined’, “we were there for each other’s tattoos.”

“This is brilliant,” Harry shakes his head, still unbuttoning his shirt. “Tattoo pals!”

“We’ll have to get another tattoo to commemorate.”

“It’s a date.” Harry smiles and his shirt falls open, revealing a moth— _butterfly?_ —and a set of branches low on his hips.

Louis is awed by how fucking fit Harry is, in both the British and American versions of the word.

“Your turn.” Harry smirks, hands on his bare waist.

Louis takes a deep, stressed breath in through his nose and then lifts his shirt.

He’s never been self-conscious—he loves himself, curves and all—but standing here in front of this man akin to a god makes him very aware of the pudge around his middle, of the lack of extremely well-defined abs.

“‘It Is What It Is’.” Harry reads. “Sorta matches the butterfly, don’t you think?”

“Fits well.” Louis finds a small smirk hidden inside himself, buried under the nervousness.

“Seventy-eight?”

“The house number of my gram and grandad.” Louis frowns. “They passed a while back.”

They’d taken care of Louis after his mum disappeared. That’s when he met Niall.

“I’m sure they’re happy wherever they are.” Harry smiles sympathetically.

Louis really, really appreciates the fact that he doesn’t apologize. He hates that.

“Me too.” Louis smiles. “Why branches?”

“Just sorta...liked the way they looked.” Harry shrugs. “Draws attention away from my shapeless abs and to my…” Harry wiggles his eyebrows.

Louis scoffs, laughing.

“The girls’ll love that when you get famous.” Louis grins.

Harry shrugs, looking sad, “It’s not like I won’t care for the female attention, it’s just that...I’m sort of exceptionally gay.”

“Yeah?” Louis quirks up the edge of his lips in a smirk, blinking slowly. “Me too.”

“Anymore tatts?” Harry asks after a beat of silence.

“Some on my shins.” Louis shrugs. “A spider web and ‘The Rogue’. You?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins. “Want to see?”

Louis doesn’t remember nodding, but apparently he does, because Harry begins to remove his pants. It’s not at all sexy—Harry trips, stumbles and nearly falls in the process—but it still turns Louis on. How fucking strange.

“Brasil?” Louis doesn’t understand how Harry Styles actually exists.

“Went there for vacation with my sister before she died and we got matching ones.” Harry has a small smile on his face.

“That’s so cute!” Louis grins.

He sort of wants to pinch Harry’s cheeks and also his bum.

“Can I...kiss you?” Harry asks, blinking rapidly.

Louis remembers nodding this time and feels Harry’s hands slide over his cheeks, covering his face. Harry’s lips brush his, soft at first and then with more fervour after a moment.

Louis curls his hands around Harry’s upper arms, standing on his toes to compete with Harry’s height. He slides his hands up and over his shoulders, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss.

Louis curls his hands in Harry’s hair and tugs lightly.

“God,” Harry moans against his lips, hands sliding down his body to his hips.

Louis feels the exact same way.

Harry steps backwards, leading Louis to some place where they can hopefully fuck.

Harry’s tongue is sure, unrelenting in the best of ways. Louis has never kissed someone with such an expert tongue. Louis pulls away from Harry’s lips to kiss his way down Harry’s neck, sucking a bruise onto the skin under his jaw.

“Can I…?” Harry asks, fingers brushing the skin under the edge of Louis’ jeans.

“Please.” Louis smiles as he pushes Harry’s shirt off his shoulders.

Louis unbuttons his jeans and then Harry’s pulling them down and smirking up at Louis on the floor.

“Pants, too?” Harry’s a big stickler for consent.

Louis _loves_ it. Consent is everything. So he nods and Harry slides Louis’ underwear down, kissing the newly revealed skin.

“Now yours, if you want.” Louis smirks and Harry nods, standing to kick his underwear off impatiently.

“There’s a couch, but no bed.” Harry murmurs before Louis leans in and kisses him.

“That’s fine with me.” Louis has had worse.

He’d once been fucked against a window. It had been terrible, and the clean-up was even worse. Cleaning cum off of windows was not fun and neither was the glare he got from his neighbour.

“Good.” Harry grins, grabbing Louis’ hand and leading him toward a couch.

It’s bright green, but looks large enough to be fucked on.

Louis can’t wait.

He sits on the couch, bare-ass naked, and Harry joins him after grabbing what Louis hopes is lube and a condom.

“You can kiss me if you want.” Louis smiles.

“I want.” Harry grins and he kisses Louis with fervour.

Louis moans into Harry’s mouth, hands mapping his chest, across the sweeping birds, down past the butterfly and resting against the branches.

“Fuck me,” Louis whispers, pulling softly on Harry’s shoulders.

“Yeah?” Harry responds, holding himself up over Louis.

“Yeah.”

Harry pops open the lube, drizzling it on his fingers, and circles one around the edge of Louis’ hole. Louis whimpers into Harry’s mouth and Harry grins against him, pressing his index finger in all of the way.

He waits for Louis to get adjusted, for his nod, before he pulls out and presses in a second.

Louis kisses his jaw, stiff and cock aching, until he feels good enough and gives Harry a nod.

Harry pumps his fingers in and out, curling them so they brush Louis’ prostate.

Louis keens, pressing down on Harry’s fingers, mouth open and panting. Harry brushes it again and Louis moans.   
“I’m ready.” He assures once he can finally breathe.

Harry nods and Louis watches him slip the condom on and then coat himself in lube. Christ, Harry’s got an extremely large cock.

Louis can’t _wait_.

Harry kisses him again, lips soft against Louis’, and then he presses in slowly. He stops halfway, allowing Louis time to adjust and Louis appreciates in endlessly.

He’s never been fucked by someone so kind and sweet.

He nods when he’s ready and Harry presses in the rest of the way, kissing softly against Louis’ neck. He shifts Louis’ legs so they curve around his waist as he begins to pull out and push in, slow and steady. Louis stays quiet for a second under Harry hits his prostate and he moans loudly, voice mingling with Harry’s corresponding groan.

Harry picks up the pace, reaching between them to stroke Louis as he pounds in, hitting Louis’ prostate every single time like they were _made_ to fuck.

Louis can’t keep quiet. He’s always been loud in bed, sure, but never like this. He’s just glad Harry’s just as loud.

Harry’s hips stutter, missing a beat, and Louis feels his arms drop a bit.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry whispers and Louis moans out his reply.

“You, too. So goddamn beautiful.”

Harry pants against Louis’ shoulder, biting down slightly as his hips meet Louis’ bum.

“I’m gonna—” Louis pants, Harry’s fingers stroking him too good to refrain.

“Me too.” Harry’s thrusts are sloppy, untimed.

Louis moans once more before he’s cuming, thighs tightening around Harry’s waist, eyes slamming shut. Harry cums a thrust and a half later, lips pressed against the pulse point in Louis’ neck.

“Want to shower?” Harry asks after a while of them just laying there, still connected.

He pulls out and tosses the condom into a garbage can, laying down next to Louis.

“Not particularly.” Louis whispers. “But I’m a mess.”

He’s sort of tired, but he’s also covered in cum, so he’s not sure what he wants.

“Let’s do it.” He kisses Harry’s shoulder and sits up, wincing.

He hopes it isn’t awkward.

-

The shower isn’t as awkward as Louis thought it would be. Actually, it isn’t awkward at all, which is wonderful.

Louis uses Harry's shampoo—it smells like fucking apples and cinnamon. Is Harry even _real?_ —and cleans himself with his fruity body wash.

He smells like the candle aisle in a shop somewhere, but it’s nice.

He and Harry lazily sing together as they shower—some tune Louis remembers hearing on [the radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw) often enough to know the words—and then they laugh when Harry slips and hits his knee off the wall.

When they get out, they get dressed, though only halfway. It’s then that Louis realizes he doesn’t want to leave.

“What time is it?” Harry mutters to himself, searching through the couch cushions for his phone.

When he finds it he snickers.

“It’s quarter to five!”

“Really?” Louis is shocked.

It doesn’t feel like it.

He wonders what—or more likely _who_ —Niall’s been doing.

“Do you want to stay?” Harry asks, smiling innocently.

“I’d have to text Niall..” Louis frowns.

“Please?” Harry says with a hopeful smile and who is Louis to resist?

“Okay.” Louis smiles. “But I’ve got to text him.”

Louis picks his phone up off the floor and opens his messages, reading the three he has from Niall.

**From Nail: lou, do not come looking for me i am getting laid!!!!!!**

**From Nail: find your own ride home sorry not sorry**

**From Nail: are you getting laid too????????**

Louis rolls his eyes and responds.

**To Nail: I was ;) i’m staying with a band member called harry. he’s from that band who sang cast adrift. just in case i go missing.**

**From Nail: right on, mate. i’m with barbara, the chick who sang in the last band. Splattered paint or whatever. See you whenever**

Louis tosses his phone onto the armchair and lays down with Harry, tugging the thin throw blanket over them both. Louis curls his arms around Harry's back, loving it when Harry begins to hum the lyrics to the other song they sang earlier that night.

“I don’t know if you’d ever remember,” his voice is low, soothing, “but that moment is sprayed across the walls of my mind / to remain until the very end of forever.”

Louis is nearly asleep when he finishes, absent-mindedly twirling a piece of Harry's hair around his finger.

“What’s that one called?” He asks, voice only a brush of a whisper.

“‘2033’," he replies. “This girl I know wrote it. It’s one of my favourites.”

Louis nods and looks over the messy dressing room, smiling when he spots his three dollar jeans.

Niall was right; they did get him laid.

And hopefully, so much more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was hesitant to name real bands in this because I was afraid of the backlash (God forbid there be any), but I got over it. Don't make me regret that decision. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! I appreciate your comments and kudos endlessly! x


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